Dexterity
by SylverMoonSlyver
Summary: If curiosity killed the cat and Rangiku was technically already dead, where did this curiosity leave her? Perhaps between the hands of two powerful men wasn’t the best place to be.
1. Chapter 1

**I issue a challenge to Bleach fans everywhere! (Because I don't notice this much) ENJOY CRACK PAIRINGS. And I mean cracky crack pairings.**

**Seriously, it's amazing. Join the fun! I was a non-believer before.**

**(())**

Subjugation wasn't a requirement of Captain Aizen's. Aizen Sousuke, however, demanded nothing less. There was no ecstasy to compare with the blind willingness of people under his indirectly molding palm. It was an interesting thing, seeing these people smile and greet Aizen while he watched and waited behind a curtain, calculating, collecting, cunning. The view entertained him, vaguely. Because of who he was no fact otherwise stated _anyone_ wouldn't shape themselves to his wishes if he so chose. Players in his game were rewarded for open acceptance into his ranks as pieces of his side of the board. They would not perish in his new era for one, and serve a god.

His complex knew no limits.

However few he directly controlled, each had a part to play. And complete submission vitally infected the reasonability in which Aizen accepted his tokens, determined their closeness and contact, and disclosed aspects of matters in his plans. In retrospect he scarcely had the proper positions readied, but Aizen Sousuke was a patient man. And if all else failed he had no problem setting the stage alone. But that didn't become necessary.

Tousen at first was nothing but a problem. Aizen avoided him completely, letting all he knew about Aizen be lies through the regular hearsay. A man without sight could not fall for any illusion, and would seize the falsehood immediately. It would have been better for Tousen in the long run to join Aizen's side instead of being a thorn in it. With careful planning and observation Tousen's malleability revealed itself through the _unexpected_ passing of a dear friend. The simple man who wanted to become a shinigami morphed into, as Aizen predicted, a bitter ghost with a message of injustice to preach. Tousen's services, thereafter, simply came to be.

The young Hinamori, when her time arrived, at first glance, fell into Aizen's plot with such grace that stroked his ever-excelling ego, and as so again when she became a key against the genius inquisitive mind Hitsugaya Toushirou, who was then diverted with little concern needed thereafter. Hinamori's institutions, however, refused her absolute loyalty in the face of any other man but the gracious, calm, and powerful captain she wanted to esteem. This Aizen deduced, and this he concluded when he saved her and the two others from death. He fascinated her. She strove to have him smile and praise her, like a simpleton dog wagging its tail, starving, and happily blind to the knife hidden behind his back. Hinamori eventually fell quite in love with his mask; and so he would leave it with her, dead, when his time of rebirth finally arrived. Only then could Aizen smile at her with clarity and truth.

Gin was a different page, another story of his own design and pattern. He was a great advantage that Aizen attained first, and prided himself in such an addition. The boy yearned for entertainment of many sorts, a trait that Aizen could relate somewhat to his quest for godhood. While Aizen agreed that much of this waiting and watching was child's play, he could not consent to Gin's constant need of fun. For a time Aizen dismissed the fact seeing as Gin _was_ a child by all means. He would leave for a time on some incomprehensible self-made errand, forgetting his place as Fifth Division third seat, for days, and return with not a by-your-leave and a pleasantly hiding smirk on his face. Gin never heeded boundaries except to smile at them as he walked by. The habit stretched from childhood, through adolescence, clear into adulthood. Tousen nearly hated him for it. Aizen showed a virtual soft spot, and repeatedly disregarded the prospect of outright rebellion from Gin.

He did, however, lift a brow when he discovered that it was a girl who drove Gin from Seireitei on his damn-fool errands.

The boy never expressed interest in girls, save to intimidate or scare them. Otherwise he found them boring, as Aizen unveiled at dinner when Gin was a child. Aizen approved. Ties were the last thing needed to hinder their departure in future years. Therefore he was not entirely pleased to discover Gin toying around with a voluptuous young woman fresh in the Academy: the one Matsumoto Rangiku. Gin's multiple days-long absences, and his single attachment formed before Aizen demonstrated closeness at a distance towards the people who would eventually become vital or witness to his ambitions. Aizen still smiled though he disapproved, never forgetting his captain's face. The young woman was a good student with good grades even if she was rambunctious and a flirt. Gin's intrigue was well-placed, but clearly deeply rooted also.

Judgment, Aizen decided, would not be passed. Not after the public recognized Gin and Rangiku as some unofficial couple, and that Rangiku was finally left alone in fear of Gin's retribution despite the humor Rangiku would find in any other man's attempt at her attentions. Aizen let them play as they would under his attentive eye, contented to merely evaluating various degrees of consequences of this distraction.

For the time being.

(())

Rangiku never saw Ichimaru Gin as a completely domineering or scary man; he just enjoyed games too much. Overly odd and usually hard to follow games. Ones including whoever happened to please his humors at the time that were accurate in untimely setting. He did it on purpose. No one dismissed him as a social ingrate any longer because his habitual mischances never ceased or improved. To put it mildly, Gin irritated the people he didn't outright terrify. Rangiku never comprehended either side of that spectrum—the hateful other people and Gin's enthrallment with making those people hate him. To her his sly mask was a simple mystery, just as anyone else somehow hid aspects of themselves. But she'd had the time to know Gin far better than anyone else dare waste the effort. She had grown up with his indecipherable moods and faces, that constant smile that gained acuteness over the years. Rangiku knew his tones, and that they changed subtly with his mood. She knew his eyes were an interesting combination of blue and aqua; not quite either-or, not quite turquoise. They were just Gin. It was the only possible way to describe the color. She knew the place under his collarbone that made him growl and dazzle her in return with teeth and tongue. She knew so many things no one did. But she didn't know everything.

Matsumoto Rangiku was no fool.

He was a strange version of a "bad boy" to put it lightly as possible, and with to attempt did Gin hide the fact. He was predictable in his inconsistency. And the list pretty much ended right there had the question to her been asked, "How do you stand his company? How do you stand him at all?"

Rangiku lavished in his company, groaned when he all but ravaged her body, and missed him when he disappeared for a while. She welcomed his assaults on her mouth, fixated on his lips as he kissed her wild. Her blood burned when he touched her in the dark. But Rangiku didn't dwell on lingering touches in the daylight, not when he wasn't around to distract her easily distractible self. Lying to herself about the man she'd settled, to a degree, with would be pointless. The beauty of their questionable relationship was its ugly side: neither party expected something greater than the moments revisited and renewed often in the tell-tale quiet of the night when formalities lay dead on the floor alongside forgotten clothing.

In the mornings Gin was sometimes gone, which his actions foretold during the night before. He would, seemingly, glance into her eyes more often while he teased, tasted, and took her.

This was such a morning.

Rangiku rose unsurprised to an empty bed, cooled where his body had been, and she didn't think twice past the initial pang of annoyance and longing. She readied and dressed as usual. She noted the quicker pace in which her morning ran with Gin missing as a factor in her regular lateness. Her lip twisted momentarily while looking in the mirror, turning to the side to gaze at the badge on her arm. Being Standing Captain was a hassle.

With extra time on the clock before her absence from the office would be duly noted Rangiku flopped onto her futon. His scent—musky, woodsy, mostly earthly smells—leapt into the air,

She sighed, rising to escape her room.

If there was a single trait she could rely on, it was Gin's return. He'd never in all their years left her completely alone. Confidence in that tied her heart together again.

"Good morning, Rangiku-san."

Aizen's voice cut cleanly into her routine, and Rangiku was thrown into a short-winded wide-eyed gape. The captain only smiled as if he understood her shock.

"Aizen-taichou," Rangiku greeted with a formal bow, expecting to continue her way unhindered. Instead he addressed her again.

"Excuse me for asking, but I was wondering if you'd seen Ichimaru-taichou this morning?" The man appeared embarrassed for what he implied in the question. Rangiku smiled despite herself, finding it rather endearingly childlike for a man Aizen's age and rank to squirm at the slightest implication of sex.

"No," she answered truthfully, "I haven't seen him this morning."

His tense embarrassment deflated and Aizen seemed more at ease. Rangiku almost wanted to laugh aloud.

"Ah, well, if you happen to see him, please remind him of his hearing. It's not proper for a generally new captain to miss his first meeting."

Rangiku lifted a brow. "Is that what he did? I expected something a little worse than that."

"One would guess," Aizen agreed humorously, nodding to her as he moved past. "Have a good day, Rangiku-san."

She watched the captain's bellowing white haori disappear, and wondered first why he insisted on longer sleeves. Gin, and even Kuchiki Byakuya, adopted a newer style of sleeveless captain's haori. And it happened to be the middle of summer. Wasn't an entire extra layer of clothing unbearably hot?

Secondly, and with a slight lift of her brow, Rangiku wondered why exactly Aizen's guess would happen similar to her own concerning Gin. Sure he bugged the living hell out of most, but he'd never done anything truly outrageously horrible. Not that she wanted to know, at least. She'd slipped her tongue with that comment, but strangely had felt perfectly at ease doing so until Aizen walked away.

Rangiku shrugged. Life was full of too many mysteries to try and solve them all.

**(())**

**I have no excuse for this, honestly. Except that I blame OhGreat. It's her fault, not mine. Now go read her AiRan oneshot! It's slightly more on the humor side than this.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long update wait. Things have been hellishly busy lately, but it's all winding down. I think. For now.**

**(((())))**

Observation was a vital key to any shinigami's survival. Unfortunately Rangiku hadn't completely developed her need of constant awareness other than the necessity of dodging potential annoyances lusting hungrily after her assets alone, or, when trying out the bars for fun around Seireitei, the drunkards who acted pretty much the same as any other sober man. Sensors for that at the very least were on a constant high. Everything else, well, settled into a far backseat. Maybe it was the self-confidence that a woman of her _stature_ needed in order to survive mostly unscathed through men's' primal instances, or her wires were worn to the copper because of her never-ending alertness while living half-alone in the middle of some desert plain in a shabby hut.

For whatever reason or event that resulted in her malfunction, Rangiku never noted the reoccurring problem in her private life until it was far too late. New habits wrapped in clay and tasting of alcohol wound its way into her routine slowly, like a hole in the bottom of a boat too small to find.

The day following Gin's morning abandonment Rangiku spotted his silver head at a distance. Granted, it was outside the Court walls in the shopping district, so technically a hair's breath from being perfectly excusable, but her mood had fouled in the time between nine a.m. and twelve noon. In three hours she'd made absolutely no dent in that mountainous pile of paperwork meant for both a captain and vice captain—not to mention the sliver for the third seat, who happened to also be dead at the moment—to accomplish. With all due respect Rangiku wasn't prepared to gracefully handle Gin's bullshit today.

Making her way through the throng Rangiku fitfully conjured a motive to be mad the second he turned his unwavering smirk on her. Figuring he wouldn't be upset no matter what she accused, Rangiku almost lied about something, anything, but decided that the truth would benefit better. He hadn't enough time to forget that morning yet.

By the time she reached a few feet from his sauntering back Rangiku had worked a good irritation up, and she gathered a dried persimmon she purchased for lunch and chucked it at the back of his stupid head. What surprised her the most, despite the fact he didn't dodge the assault like she thought, was Gin turning around, smearing a half-smirk on his lips while he did.

"Afternoon, Ran," he drawled lazily, emphasizing all the wrong syllables.

"Don't 'Afternoon, Ran' me," she demanded.

He rubbed where the dried fruit hit the back of his head, grinning like a caught child unremorseful for his wrongdoing. "Ah…" he muttered, "You're upset about something."

"Thanks for noticing." She hit his arm. "Why didn't you tell me about this _training_ in _Hueco Mundo_?"

"Oh," he relented, still at ease for all her attempt at chiding him. "Aizen-taichou recommended that."

"Aizen-tai—He's not your captain anymore, Gin. You don't have to do what he says. You're a captain now!"

"Mostly," he smirked, tilting his head in such a way that expressed a little sheepishness at the predicament he undoubtedly had tried to avoid. "Aizen-taichou thinks it'll help smooth over the trouble I've caused." He attempted sounding sorry, and failed. Miserably. His flat-out smirk certainly didn't help either.

Rangiku shook her head quickly, not quite getting at his actual meaning. "By going on a suicide mission?"

"Are you scared for me?"

"No! Well, yes, you moron! Why wouldn't I be?" she burned scarlet for a moment, eyes flaring with indignity.

Gin smiled like she was the most adorable creature he'd seen. Rangiku hit him again, in the chest.

He hummed, turning sideways from her next blow. "Don't worry about me. Worry about that pile of paperwork, ok, Ran?"

"Hn!" she huffed, "I think I might."

"Good," he cut her a smile.

"So," Rangiku said, already simmering rapidly down from her anger, "what's the point of this mission, really?"

Almost immediately Gin casually crossed his arms, as he did to physically throw his impenetrable wall up in place.

"Kind of an expression of loyalty," he answered squarely, eyes never leaving her face. His lips, however, twitched into a somewhat bigger twist, bringing the fox-like quality that cemented a wedge of caution between him and all of Seireitei.

"If you keep that up," Rangiku informed, itching to touch the sharp corner of his lips, "then they'll have a reason to need this 'display of loyalty'."

The look flashed across his features again.

"Keep what up?" he inquired.

Rangiku rolled her eyes, picking up the persimmon that bounced off his head. Blowing the dirt off it she tucked it between his arm and chest. Gin's brows lifted.

"For your troubles," she partly teased but mostly meant sarcastically, and patted his arm casually. Rangiku wiggled her fingers, batting a lash as she sashayed away. If she'd expected Gin to hound after her and explain, even vaguely, what wiped that smile from his face then she would have been let down by his absence for the rest of the day, and the entire night. As she rolled uncomfortably alone in bed she opened her dry eyes with a sigh, flicking her gaze to the window whenever a cloud darkened the pale moon glimmering outside her unlocked window.

It was a good thing she never expected anything from him, then, otherwise she'd end up achingly disappointed.

(())

Gin's mission was hardly ceremonial, though the captains were asked to attend his departure. Rangiku surprisingly numbered on that short list. According to her informant Aizen had suggested allowing the Standing Captain admittance to the seeing-off. As for the man's aims Rangiku had no clue, but she was somewhat grateful nonetheless. She nodded to the calm, observant brunette when she got in line and knelt since she was not official captain of the Tenth Division.

Gin arrived, dressed simply but marked with the Third Division's marigold blooming on the right side of his chest. The black robes were edged in white and pale green to match the color of Shinso's hilt material. He passed the line without sparing her a glance. The Commander General said a few words that Rangiku couldn't hear, and Gin vanished with a violent rip and flash.

The ensemble dispersed.

Rangiku ran for her division's office.

Or would have, had Aizen not caught her.

"I apologize for having you sit through that," he said, and she believed him.

Rangiku sighed, "It's alright. It's not your fault he's an unbelievable asshole sometimes."

That caught the captain quite off-guard, and his eyes widened considerably. Unohana, who he glanced quickly at, moved on as if she'd not heard.

"I couldn't say, Rangiku-san," Aizen recovered some, smiling for all his worth to hold the situation that was not falling apart together.

She shrugged, feeling particularly obstinate.

"I mean, who knows what he's _really_ doing in Hueco Mundo," she babbled, waving her hand. Aizen gazed steadily at her. "A loyalty test? Right," she scoffed, propping a hand on her hip. "Do they even have loyalty tests here?"

"I've never witnessed one," Aizen said, tilting his head with question. "Is that what he told you he was doing?"

"That's what he said alright," Rangiku nodded, looking toward her division in the distance. "It's not that hard to believe," she added quietly.

Aizen's mouth formed an 'O' briefly, but he thought better of his words and closed his mouth into a thin, friendly smile instead.

"I've had faith in Gin for a long time," Aizen said after a moment, to which Rangiku gave a dubious look. "I have," he raised his palm in defense, "and this mission of his will go without much problem, you'll see. He's a powerful young man, and he's no fool. Mostly."

Rangiku smirked wistfully. Aizen had no idea how she appreciated his little joke, if that was the intention at all.

"Thank you, Aizen-taichou," she bowed.

"It's not a problem at all, Rangiku-san. Have a good day."

(())

Rangiku's dreams rarely involved Ichimaru Gin.

On the occasion it did he was different, a little out of character in that her perception of his caresses, if they happened, were calm instead of almost demanding, and his kiss offered room for retaliation when the real Gin made her fight for it. Perhaps his arms being warm was part of some fantasy she secretly longed for in a lover, but even then frustration toward the true Ichimaru Gin never materialized in the act of love making.

Perhaps his rougher passion was the reality she couldn't live without.

(())

he appeared quietly suddenly settles beside her takes her up and _rolls_ she's atop him never before he kisses her surprise away fingers knead through clothing it disappears and there's skin skin _skin_ and his hands roam ruthlessly unrelentingly she shivers he nips her jaw nails dig there's a chill across her bare back, hands not Gin's she trembles, kisses shifts she groans above him he smiles at her mouth

she rises settles and hands caress her back Gin's are hands on her stomach hips and higher and the touch at her back continues confuses she cannot frown and shivers shivers and turns to look nothing is there

(())

With a jolt Rangiku woke, sitting at her desk under the blanket of a candle-less night pouring in with a chilling breeze from the open window. Rubbing a palm over her bleary eyes she rose slowly, shaking her head.

Those papers would wait. She needed proper rest, if she could get some after that demonstration still hazy in her sleep-ridden mind.

She got as far as the couch, falling onto it, half willing and half afraid to meet the remaining strange dream at the edge of her unconsciousness.

**(((())))**

**That stream-of-consciousness writing is really…interesting. I hope I did it right. I'm not sure if I like it or not. But, hey, trying something new is fun.**


	3. Chapter 3

Watching the fourth or fifth seat (Rangiku couldn't very well remember which) parade before her individual slices of paper was much like witnessing a dismemberment cutting raggedly into not only today and Friday but most likely the majority of her weekend also. Rangiku rested her head on her palm with no pretense of formality while mournfully observing the restock of her desk's top. The man's helpful hints dropped dead to the floor.

"…this I believe is from the Eleventh Division requesting more room for the western storage warehouse for weapons. And this is also from the Eleventh asking for repairs to that same warehouse because of last week's incident…" Two forms multiplied the weight bowing her desk. Rangiku's bored eyes intently followed their descent, willing flames or some manner of utter destruction on their wretched black and white souls.

The oblivious man prattled on, monotonously and irrevocably marked by his vice captain with bad omens and _paperwork_.

She couldn't pity him.

Was is just her or had that stack in his unforgiving arms not gotten any smaller yet?

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou?" he quailed.

"Hm?" she sat up, assembling her command. "What? Go on."

He cleared his throat, ready to spew more into the oxygen cycle when she took the cork off a small, thin-necked bottle and downed a mouthful.

"Is," he began sweating, she thought, trembling at the mouth and fingers like a leaf. A very uncomfortable leaf. His suffering did her muted conscious good. "Is that…_sake_?"

"That?" she pointed. "Oh. Yeah," Rangiku breathed, rubbing the ache between her eyes for a moment. "To keep me somewhat awake. I didn't sleep well."

He fidgeted.

"But _sake_?" he emphasized again, almost whispering.

"Yes," she whispered right back, leaning forward slightly.

"O-oh! Well, if that helps then of course!" he stammered, a little pale in the face. Except at his cheeks.

Damn.

Rangiku sat back, nearly slapping her palms to her forehead and running them down her face.

"Just," she commanded, irritated and sleep deprived, "set it there. Set it all there."

The fourth or fifth seat, she didn't care which, nodded briskly, slamming the papers down on the corner in his mouse-like skirting for the door. A few of them fluttered to the floor, disappearing under the desk and couch. She stared at the one under the couch for a short time, contemplating. And thought better of it. Besides, burying things hid them better than merely shoving them under a couch.

Glancing out the window Rangiku scrunched her nose, displeased with the pale sky. The morning had barely begun. She was, because of falling asleep on that stupid couch, incredible early for work with absolutely no motivation to spur completing her noontime deadlines as of yet.

Speaking of that stupid couch, she'd hardly slept last night on it. An odd reoccurrence throughout her dreams wrestled with her rest, and for the life of her Rangiku could not recall what. Had they been simple nightmares she would have dealt her wayward thoughts a nasty blow and settled the troubling matter well enough to get some unbroken sleep. And she would do so alone, as she was accustomed. As a child she survived through sufficient amount of fright during the day to stand for terrors in the empty night. Now was certainly no different.

She still had no shoulder to cling to and confide in.

(())

When in wait, perched precisely in a scheduled position according to prior acquisition of a semblance of habit, showing the proper amount of surprise eased the abnormal moment conveniently.

Every morning Aizen took a walk to calm and collect before falling into the intricacies of calls and answers that directed their way around Seireitei and beyond if necessary. So much information sometimes scattered in the mind, and the tranquility of the early morning sorted his priorities effectively in time to casually beat all of Seireitei long before heads lifted from their comfortable beds. On these walks he discovered wonderful stops and views in the nooks and crannies of Seireitei. Each had an extravagant view of some sort, and each had a purpose. This morning he stopped at the edge of the Tenth where the division street and public street joined, under the shade of a tree Aizen recalled Rangiku planting upon her promotion to vice captain. At this place the rising sun cast a fiery glow over the forest across the far-off Thirteenth Division and, at this time in the morning, was silent as death itself. Absently, while watching the glorious display, Aizen stroked the hilt of Kyouka Suigetsu.

She arrived precisely on schedule, as Aizen predicted. He mirrored her surprise, though subdued his own considerably. After all, had she been an early riser Rangiku would see him standing there gazing nearly every second or third morning of rounding his usual early morning haunts.

"Good morning, Rangiku-san," Aizen greeted.

She bowed, humming her response with a tad remorse. She kept a professional distance between them, something the young woman profusely excelled at.

"I'm surprised," Aizen ventured, pausing to obtain her curiosity. "You're out and about early. I never see you around at this hour. Your men say you're usually casually late every morning," he finished, widening his smile, crinkling his clear brown eyes humorously.

Rangiku's returning smirk faltered a bit.

"Do they?"

"I didn't mean for them to get in trouble, Rangiku-san," he added quickly, calmly, almost laughingly. "I can imagine that working into the night would give some leeway for your lateness. We all have our little ticks and dials, our faults and whatnot. In fact, I happen to be unable to keep late hours."

Rangiku relaxed and that smirk returned, dancing in her eyes for a moment, and she shifted her feet towards him for conversation.

"Really?" She nodded after a second's study, not harsh but with genuine interest. "I guess I can see that. I'm not a morning person anyway, no matter what time I go to sleep."

Aizen touched his chest over his steady heart.

"Your secret is safe with me," he assured.

She laughed shortly, "That's no secret, I can tell you that. Though I _have_ been keeping weird hours. I never seem to make a dent in that paperwork, no matter how long I work."

"Attempting to do three of the most demanding jobs is not an easy task," Aizen agreed, shifting his sword hand against the hilt of his zanpaktou while seeming to brush a streak of dust from his robes or perhaps remove a fallen hair from his rather shaggy head.

"Anyway," Rangiku redirected the conversation, "all of it was making my head stuffy, so I decided to get some air." She barely stifled a yawn, excusing herself. Aizen nodded, politely turning his head away while she covered her mouth and arched her back in a very lovely stretch.

"That's right," Aizen said thoughtfully, stringing a little sympathy with his words. "I seem to forget sometimes that you're only Standing Captain. It's certainly been long enough for that to slip my mind. But that doesn't excuse the fact," he continued through her increasing objection, "My deepest apologies for requesting you sit through Gin—Ichimaru-taichou's assembly yesterday, especially when things weren't so clear to you. That was thoughtless of me."

"No, it's alright," Rangiku assured with extremity in her voice. "Really. I mean, I've been wondering about this whole thing with us anyway," she blurted, and blinked. Her mouth closed slowly, and her face darkened in embarrassment and uncertainty.

Aizen moved his hand, passing it through his sleeve in a comfortable position to stand and talk. He eyed her with concern, closely observing her mouth downturn and her eyes clear like sunlight dispersing clouds, and determination filled their grey-blue depths. Her shoulder rotated fractionally against him, affectively barring Aizen from her. He checked his next plan to step forward, content to remain at that distance at her discretion.

"Oh," he said, astonished and somewhat uncomfortable himself. "Have you talked with him about any of this?"

"You know," Rangiku barked curtly but not rudely. Aizen cocked his head. The sympathy erased from his face, replaced with deep interest. When she looked his way, in his eyes, she softened, appreciating the lack of pity. "I haven't," she answered with a tight laugh, still sounding unsure. "I don't even know why I'm saying this. Excuse me."

"Of course," he said hurriedly, sidestepping from Rangiku's blind path as she quickly walked away.

**(((())))**

**Is that not just about one of the **_**yummiest**_** things? Am I completely fabricating this in my twisted imagination? It's a strong possibility (I **_**am**_** the one writing it XD), but let me fangirl in my own way, kthx.**

**I'd always thought Aizen was hott but damn…**

**I am SO enjoying this.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou!"

A trio of men screamed like anxious little girls as Rangiku slowly, tongue out in concentration through the clearly exaggerated wails, navigated the final step to the Tenth Division. Each man was respectable, hard working, and individually numbered three to five down the list of shinigami in her division.

And she was surely going to kill them all.

"I'm alright, boys," she assured, testing her balance on the crutches while attempting to remove her sandal with one foot and no hands.

"Let me help you," the fifth seat offered.

In a panic that nearly toppled her precarious position, Rangiku had the sandal sailing through the air, strap broken and flat part hanging together by threads, before his knees touched the floor.

"Oh, well" Rangiku chirped. "Thank you anyway."

She hobbled off.

"I hope you're feeling better, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," someone called from down a hall. Immediately the greetings flooded her ears, and she smiled and laughed and silently, in a small part of her, wished them all dead. Well, silenced for the moment would be good.

"Just a little accident," she told another inquiring subordinate as she threw herself into the captain's office. "Now, I have some catching up to do," she explained while sliding the door shut in the faces of her subordinates. Her smile dropped to the floor. What a nightmare. Although she should appreciate that her division truly cared for their vice captain, she also wasn't feeling particularly gracious today.

Wobbling to the desk, Rangiku eased into the chair. Swiveling to find a descent and comfortable spot from which to work while simultaneously dangling a stiff cast leeching off her leg, she dislodged a couple papers with the front corner of her uniform. They fluttered to the ground, skirting just out of reach. When her fist slammed the desk a second enraged time it triggered the burning behind her eyes. The humiliation, frustration, it all finally grabbed her ankles, climbing over like a sick blanket.

A knock at the door replaced that mental exhaustion with fresh anger.

"Yes," she called softly, hoping whoever it was wouldn't hear.

It opened. The third seat walked in.

Rangiku snapped.

"I swear, if anyone else comes in here hounding after my health this crutch is headed up their ass!"

The man's mouth gaped. Rangiku, having said what needed to be said, felt much better. With a smile, she sat back, politely asking what he wanted.

"Forgive me, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, but we were told to keep a close eye on you, once you got back. Aizen-taichou asked us to." He was relieved once the pensiveness in her expression withered away. The shock was much more approachable. He continued, "Aizen-taichou insisted it was the least he could do concerning…well, the accident."

Rangiku gnawed her tongue pressed against the inside of her check for a moment, eyes darting across her desk, paper to ink brush, to ink bowl, to drawer by her foot and back again.

"He did, huh?"

"Yes."

Well that was certainly a bit flattering. Call her naive—she wasn't old, not according to a shinigami yet—but couldn't that be counted as _interest_? Or maybe that wasn't naiveté, but a bit of hopefulness?

What was she, a damn schoolgirl? A teenager pining after attention?

_Hell no_.

"Well, you can tell him that it's a nice gesture," Rangiku asserted, "but I'm capable of taking care of myself. Thank you. Very much."

Her third seat smiled.

"Aizen-taichou guessed you would say that." He hurried to the door, sliding it open to reveal the nuisance himself.

Aizen smiled a little, nodding to the grinning third seat. He held the door open when Rangiku's man started to close it, dismissing the man still. Aizen clacked the door completely open before facing his opponent.

"You wouldn't punish your men for following a request, would you, Matsumoto-san?" Aizen asked, looking quite sheepish with that little red slice across his cheek. Seeing the wound, however small, on a captain's face worsened the downtrodden self-pity Rangiku decidedly wallowed in.

Her face soured.

"I think," she began, setting herself to work on a paper she didn't read beforehand, "that you've done more than your share of helping this division, Aizen-taichou. When I agreed to stand in as captain, I did it because I was confident enough to handle a captain's responsibilities." Glad she didn't see any reason to look up, Rangiku continued to scribble on and ruin her paperwork.

Aizen was quiet, and it was damn comfortable. Except for the heaviness coming from his side of the room. Still she refused to look up.

"A vice captain shouldn't have to shoulder a captain's load, whether they're standing as one or not. So," Aizen concluded, "though the ambitions were good, that final blow was rightfully mine. If not by necessity then by default as I was the highest ranking official there."

Had she ever witnessed Aizen pulling rank before? Not even with his own men did he slander their mistakes and misfortunes by slapping the captain card in their face. But it wasn't like he purposely waved his superiority under her nose.

Or was he?

"I could have handled it," she resisted.

"It would have been the loss of a vice captain with much potential."

Rangiku glanced at him then, catching the glare of his glasses against the light. When he shifted and she could see, he was smiling, but his lips were thin.

"You're messing with me," Rangiku accused with all seriousness, eyes narrowed.

Aizen blinked, deeply surprised.

"Of course I'm not. Matsumoto-san, I am a man of my word. I wouldn't speak anything more than the truth," he protested.

She muttered, "Uh-huh," and scribbled her paper some more. "What do you want, Aizen-taichou?" she sighed, relenting under the stare of his smile, which she couldn't help but return. A little. She refused him complete satisfaction, and he seemed quite alright with that.

"Only to help," he answered, spreading his hands wide.

"For now?"

"Just for now."

"Just while I'm hurt?"

"If that's what you want, then yes. For the next day, until that cast comes off, I am at your service."

This was weird, way weird, and yet highly enjoyable. Rangiku smirked, gnawing her tongue while studying his open expression.

"How about a portion of this paperwork here?" she indicated the pile that had exceeded her normal, hard-enough-to-finish amount.

"Consider it done."

Without warning he swept most of her day away in a neat pile.

"Hey! That's more than half!" Rangiku sputtered.

Aizen turned a closed-eyed smile on her.

"I think you'll have more than your share of time in getting a replacement for that form. It seems you might need another draft."

The door shut. Rangiku stared, and then slid her gaze to the sloppy mess in front of her.

Great.

Scowling, she cursed her crutches, the floor, the paper and ink and ink brush, and the papers on the floor she'd have to maneuver to retrieve. But when she looked, they were gone, sitting properly upon her desk fanned so the titles could easily be read. Again Rangiku gawked after the door, pondering her strange predicament. It was a preposterous thing for sure, gaining the attentions of the Fifth Captain. He was much to reserved for her; he was essentially _supposed_ to be boring. And she couldn't stand for a boring anything. Plus she was much too loudmouthed for him; there was no possible way he could keep up with her pace of, well, activities that did not include work.

Rangiku grunted as she plopped into her chair, digging through the bottom drawer until a fresh bottle of sake produced itself. While her thoughts swirled like she swirled the alcohol, round and round, an hour slipped through her fingers, as did the nearly empty bottle when she slowly drifted off to sleep.

(())

With a single candle burning low, Aizen sat at his personal desk long after the deep night closed in, occasionally pausing the field report to run through one of Rangiku's other papers with little effort. After all, he had been present at her little excursion. The report was flawless and left no leaf unturned, where as the same report written by Rangiku herself would have been riddled with legitimate holes, for good reason.

The extra work didn't bother him; he slept little anyway.

He glanced at his zanpaktou, replaced in her case and silently contented for the time being. Her ambitions, a constantly replayed filmstrip in the background of her intricate mind, always bloomed a particular smile on her wielder's face.

"All is well," Aizen said to the sword's demand vibrating through the air.

As well as it should be.

He peered at the Tenth Division's papers.

Kyouka Suigetsu was silent.

**(((())))**

**So, when I am ever going to write a long chapter? I dunno.**

**Haha!**

**Ah, just poking fun at myself a bit. ^^**

**Sorry for the long update wait. I was having issues with this chapter. As in this is my fifth draft of this chapter kind of issues. But it's all good. I think I did myself a favor by starting Consort since that took some of the pressure of events I want to see happen off this story. Should be smoother sailing from here on out.**

**And, peeps, thanks for the support! And power to the AiRan fandom! It is (according to my statistics) now going **_**three**_** strong! An increase! And hey, if you're out there and you're a fan too then give me a shout-out. Make yourself known!**


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